Laundry and Other Stories
by Miss Malfaisant
Summary: When it came down to it, what else would you expect Nellie to do with a basket of Sweeney Todd's shirts? Rated for sequences of fluff-filled naughtiness. Sweenett.
1. Laundry

**Laundry and Other Stories**  
Written by Miss Malfaisant  
Edited by dahliax

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sweeney Todd. You do not either. But we can dream, can't we?

**Setting:** Set during the regained success of Mrs. Lovett's pie shop and Sweeney's murders before he kills the judge. Midnight.

**Inspiration:** This was inspired by Morwynn's beautiful creation - _Sex and Chocolate_. Go read it. It's fantastic.

* * *

Mrs. Lovett couldn't sleep.

It most likely had something to do with the boiling heat.

She couldn't remember when it had ever been this hot. The temperature outside must have been around ninety degrees all day. Hardly anyone had come in for a pie; it was depressing to see the empty cobblestone road radiating heat waves outside her open windows.

She threw off her bed sheets in frustration, realizing that her hair and her nightgown had somehow managed to cling to her sweating skin.  
Groaning, she swung her thin legs over the side of the bed. Grabbing her pillow as an after thought, she carried it to the windowsill. She tried again to sleep, with her damp arms crossed upon it.

Not a single breeze disturbed the sweltering night air.

Standing, she drowsily walked to her bathroom, hoping that a splash of cold water on her face would help just a little bit. She was utterly exhausted; now the _one_ time of the day she got to lay down she couldn't even nod off the tiniest bit. Figures.  
The bathroom curtains were drawn, but a thin beam of moonlight peeked through, shining on the tiled floor. She twisted the faucet on, leaning down and bringing the cold water up to hit her cheeks. Raising her head up, she glanced at her pallid face in the mirror. Purple shadows under her heavily-lidded eyes gave her the appearance of a walking ghost, and her sunken cheeks did nothing to help that.

Ah, well. At least she had great breasts.  
Not like_ he_ noticed.

She turned to walk back to her bedroom, but something in her reflection caught her glance. She looked back at the smudged glass, and narrowed her eyes - her features scrunching.

There was a basket of laundry sitting on a small table behind her. It was filled with Mr. T's shirts - washed and pressed at her hand. But beneath the woven basket she saw the smallest tip of a wrinkled sleeve -  
She had forgotten to wash one of Mr. Todd's shirts.

She pivoted, bending down and lifting up the basket to pull out the shirt from under it. It must have fallen out. The blood that had drenched the entire sleeve and parts of the collar had since dried, and left the cotton a deep crimson. Specks of red dotted the front, like dark roses in a snow bank.

She lifted it to her nose, inhaling deeply. It smelled thickly of blood, but through the metallic scent she could smell him.  
The sweet scent of her Mr. Todd.  
He was her obsession. Her guilty pleasure. Her everything.

Standing, she shrugged the sticky nightgown off her shoulders. Her thin figure was illuminated by the shaft of moonlight through the lacy curtains, and her ivory skin glowed.

She slid her arms through the sleeves of his shirt, and buttoned the bottom few buttons up with shaking hands.  
She spun, lifting her chin to look herself over in the mirror. The shirt ended just below the small of her back, and the few buttons she had done up ended below her bust line.

Tilting her head so her auburn curls fell over one shoulder, she traced a skeletal finger down the center of her chest in-between her breasts.

What would it be like, if Sweeney saw her like this? Dressed in his clothes, bathing herself in his scent.  
She looked up at the ceiling towards the sound of his echoing footsteps. She let her eyelids flutter closed in thought.

"Mrs. Lovett?"

She yelped, spinning around and clutching the back of the sink for support.  
Sweeney Todd was standing in the door way, glaring at her with one eyebrow raised.  
"Nellie…" he looked her over, meeting her gaze with a smirk dancing on the corner of his lips. "Is my laundry finished?"

She raised a trembling hand and pointed to the basket.

He sneered gratefully and walked across the bathroom, picking his shirts up out of the basket and slowly counting them. "Mrs. Lovett, I do believe I gave you five shirts… this is only four." He looked back up at her, his eyes sparkling in the darkness. "I do believe I will need the other one back."

"I-I…" she stuttered, as she felt her cheeks grow a bright red. What the bloody hell was she supposed to say?  
_Sorry, I'm usin' this one righ' now Mistah T, can I give it back t' yeh lateh?_  
She swallowed, looking down as she began to un button his shirt. She closed her eyes, inhaling before she -

Suddenly she felt an overwhelming force push her up against the sink, and she was unable to breathe. She opened her eyes to see Mr. T's mouth crushing hers, and felt his hands slowly encircle her waist, sending warm shivers up her spine.  
Unwilling to spend more than another moment trying to summarize the current situation, she let out a euphoric moan, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer to her to deepen the kiss.  
Their breaths mingled; their tongues crashed together in their silently declared contest to see who could french the hardest.

Nellie pulled her bare leg up, wrapping it around his and felt his manhood press in between her legs. Their breathing deepened, and her heart raced as their passion flared and grew. Lacing their fingers into each other's hair, the competed for the upper hand; the lead in their position.  
Sweeney won her over, moving his hands from her waist to slip inside her shirt - his shirt. She moaned into his mouth as he rubbed his thumb over her nipples and she felt them stiffen in response to his cold hands. The smell of his cologne and her sweat rose erotically between them, and she tilted her head back as desire surged through her.

She tugged at his shirt, feeling it already loose, and tossed it to the floor. She ran her hand down his bare stomach; the masculine pattern of his hair splayed downward. She ran her forefinger in a zigzagging line below his naval. She paused for a moment before continuing and curled her fingers around one of the belt loops on his trousers and pulled them slightly outwards.  
He groaned into her lips, moving one hand to the back of her neck and the other one to grab her lower back, roughly shoving her to him until she could feel his erection hard against her beneath his pants.  
He laughed icily, grabbing the back of her head and pulling her ear to his lips.

"_Don't get ahead of yourself, doll._"

Her eyes shot open, and she looked around hastily.

Her back was to the sink, and her chest and forehead were glistening with perspiration.

She was still in the bathroom.  
She was still in his shirt.  
She could still hear his footsteps above her head.

She was alone.

Biting her lip, she pushed herself up with shaking arms, and turned to go back to bed, and froze.

The basket of Sweeney Todd's shirts was gone.

* * *

This will most likely be a collection of one shots. _However_... if no one reviews, that probably won't happen.

I love you all.


	2. Devotion

**Laundry and Other Stories  
**Written by Miss Malfaisant  
Edited by Skye Aerrow

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sweeney Todd. I do, however, own the two-disc special edition of the movie with select bonus features.

**Setting:** Set during the regained success of Mrs. Lovett's pie shop and Sweeney's murders before he kills the judge. Late evening.

**Notes: **I happen to be a hypocrite, because as hard and as often as I try, I simply cannot produce an acceptable piece of literature.  
I will therefore be eternally banished to the sixth level of the eighth circle of hell. _Apparently_, none of you have ever read a piece of decent fanfiction in your life if you call this poorly written smut I spill out GOOD. Go read something else. Please.

* * *

A shadowed figure of a man stood beneath a large glass window, his hands diligently working to sharpen a razor against a piece of slate. His skin was deathly pale, and its contrast against his jet black hair and dark eyes was unnerving, yet transfixing at the same time.

Sweeney Todd was brooding.

Pondering his purpose of existence.

Meditating on his actuality.

Questioning his reality.

Contemplating his past and future.

He lived only to kill. That was his drive; his motivation; his _passion_. His quest for vengeance was unperceptive and decided. Todd was blind to the world- what existed beyond his realm of blood-lust and revenge was not his concern. What else had he to live for, save that single, irreplaceable aim?

The light tinkling of a bell put an end to his thoughts, and he glared angrily at the glass in front of him, swearing under his breath.

"Is it _really _that difficult for you to remember to knock, Mrs. Lovett?" he growled, throwing the well-used block of slate across the room. It hit the wall hard, causing bottles of aftershave and cologne to rattle and clink together on the vanity table.

"Well, _s'cuse _me, Mistah T. I was just bringin' yeh some supper, love… no need teh get all huffy like that." The pain in her voice was obvious- he'd offended her without even trying. You would've thought that by now, he might've learned to be a bit gentler with her; a little more… friendly.

The look in her eyes was so full of grief that it was a wonder she hadn't burst into tears yet. This realization briefly made Sweeney consider apologizing. Briefly, of course, because even though he had a kind of fondness for Nellie Lovett, he was still a hard-hearted man.

She placed the tray of whatever it was that she had brought him on his table, sighing. When he didn't hear footsteps moving towards the door, he sighed as well.

"Is that all?" Sweeney looked over at her impatiently. Surely she had something else she needed to be doing right now, like sweeping or baking pies. Why the hell was she still standing there? God, the woman annoyed him to no end. "What's wrong with you?"

Mrs. Lovett opened her mouth, but she didn't answer. Sweeney was almost certain he saw the hint of a blush creeping into her pallid cheeks.

"I- I was just waitin' teh see if there was anythin' else yeh'd be needin'." she lied clumsily, her hands twisting at her apron. She honestly didn't have a reason for lingering – especially with all that work tof be done- so it couldn't really be said that she was lying to him. Perhaps she loitered because she couldn't get enough of that warm feeling that trickled through her veins whenever they occupied the same room. Or maybe it was that she loved the tightness that settled in her stomach as she watched him move. It could even have been the tiny flicker of hope that he would drop everything he was doing, run over to her, and finally pull her into his arms.

Mrs. Lovett bit her lip, looking down at her hands on her dress. She really had run out of opportunities to display her affections towards him. Of course, he already knew how she felt about him. He had known _that_ even before he was taken away as Benjamin Barker. But everything she did for him; every little word, thought, or action ... did he notice _any_ of it?

She washed and ironed all of his clothes on a daily basis, working long hours into the night to bleach out the persistent bloodstains. She cooked his meals, preparing the food with an almost stubborn efficiency, even though she knew he never ate them. Good Lord, she even decapitated and gutted _human corpses_ and baked the flesh into pies to hide the evidence of his murders.

His madness fueled her desire.

He was driven by heartless revenge.

She was driven by unconditional love.

Mrs. Lovett's eagerness to speak to him had put Sweeney in a slightly better mood. Every little reminder of her devotion made him feel a little more powerful. But, then again, she was always so completely over-the-top. He turned, and his black eyes met hers, probing roughly. She stood there, staring right back at him. If she could look at him without flinching... Mrs. Lovett was a very strong woman..

He hated to admit it, but through all of these dark, torturous years, she had somehow managed to hold herself together when Lucy hadn't even bothered trying to keep herself alive.

Sweeney was in no way or shape unaware of everything she did for him, all the laundry she did, the food she cooked, the bodies she'd disposed of. A bloody wonder, she was. It made him want to slap her across the face, to make her crawl and scream and cry; and then pull her into his arms and kiss her like mad.

Mrs. Lovett reasoned that she could quit at any moment. She could simply tell him to wash his own clothes, to feed himself, too get rid of his own corpses… but she didn't, and heaven knows she never would.

The barber felt his gaze soften, and saw Mrs. Lovett's eyes flash confusion.

"Mistah T? Wot is it?"

Sweeney pretended not to hear her, turning and looking at his reflection in the mirror above the table where he kept his razors. He looked downright ghastly, he did. Sunken cheekbones, pale skin, unruly hair... Black eyes stared back like two bottomless pits, mocking him.

_Tell her._  
_Show her._  
_Let her know how much she means to you_.

"Mistah T? Are yeh' lisenin' teh m-"

Sweeney cut off her last words, having grabbed her hands and pulled her to him. He pressed his lips to hers, crushing her mouth with his, and refusing to back off even as she let out a small squeal of a surprise.

Mrs. Lovett lightly shoved him with a hand against his chest, feeling strangely lightheaded. "Mistah T! Wot are yeh doin'?"

"Everything," he breathed, watching her with wide, apathetic eyes. "Everything I should have done… by now..."

Nellie's hand flew to her mouth, shocked tears sparkling in the corners of her eyes. "Oh, Mistah T!"

He placed his hands on her waist and pulled her to him again, kissing her deeply. She wrapped her arms around his neck, tears falling from her eyes. Automatically, she took several deep breaths to stop any more from spilling out. His lips seized hers again and their tongues moved against each other, exploring their mouths hungrily.

This wasn't enough for him. For _her_. He needed to show her that he appreciated her so much _more_ than this.

Spinning around with his hands firmly holding her waist, Sweeney fell back into his barber's chair, pulling her down with him. Mrs. Lovett let a small moan escape her lips, turned on from the thought of the scene, the pain of his forceful pull hurting her even more as she realized that it was indeed happening, but that didn't matter. Her legs were brought up around him, pinning them to one another, another groan issuing from her lips as pleasure soared through her body.

God, was this finally _happening_ to her?

Devotion, gratitude, and unadulterated lust bled from every pore in their bodies so intensely that it was a wonder she could even pull his shirt over his head. He was left with the difficult task of pushing up her dress and pulling down her bloomers in the midst of all their moaning and heavy breathing. When she felt cold air on her bare legs, Mrs. Lovett let another groan tumble from her lips and into the kiss, her tongue desperately searching his mouth.

Sweeney let a hard moan escape his parted lips, running his hands up her back and deftly unlacing her corset. The undergarment fell away from her body and landed on her floor, exposing her slender, flawless back. He ran his hands across her bare skin and neck to her hair, and pulled out a single pin that released her curls so that they tumbled across her back. He wasted no time in exposing her chest, his mouth floating downward to her neck, her collarbone, her breast. He traced over her erected nipple softly before his lips folded over the dark pink flesh.

Mrs. Lovett took in a deep drought of air, the inhale so quick and rapid that it sounded like she had just been either shot or stabbed. But this sensation wasn't anywhere near pain- on the contrary, it was absolute _bliss_. She wriggled and writhed over him, moaning as the barber continued to move his lips on her hardened nipple. The pleasure was too incredible.

She would _definitely_ have to pay him back.

Sweeney Todd wasn't sure whether or not she was in pain. It wasn't like he really cared, either way. The way she contorted her shoulders and dipped her chin up and pushed out her chest made her look as though she was in a great deal of agony, but the moans escaping her lips screamed otherwise.

His love bites were driving her wild; his hands felt like fire against her skin. God, how she wanted him so _badly_!

Mrs. Lovett leaned forward, biting his earlobe as her hands traveled down his sculpted chest to the top of his pants. She exhaled into his skin while sliding her hands under the top of his pants and yanking them down along with his underwear.

He was so hard by now that he was in almost excruciating pain. There was nothing he wanted to do more than fuck the shit out of her. He shoved into her and she almost screamed; her moaning becoming louder and breathier as he thrust in and out, bringing her into a steady rhythm she followed obediently with her hips. As if on a queue, her blood began pounding furiously through her veins; her heart racing against her breast. With each time he pushed back into her, she could feel that pressure begin to build inside of her - right behind her naval - eager to be let out. Noises that she didn't even know she was capable of making were emitted from her mouth, - moans, shrieks, gasps - creating a melody of their own for him.  
Her hands gripped the sides of the chair to keep from falling backward as he began to thrust faster and faster. Her hips trembled, and she was dividing her blurred focus between not falling off of the chair and attempting to buck her hips against him. Her back arched upwards until her mouth was by her ear, and through her chaotic, laborious breathing, she managed to repeat his name over and over again, sounding like a desperate prayer.

Her orgasm came. She screamed, and Nellie gasped as she felt the rush of heat surge though her that she hadn't felt in so long. His bristled hair brushed against her, and she shuddered at the touch before she heard him let out a loud groan, and his pace suddenly slowed.

She collapsed against him then, her head resting on his shoulder as their labored breathing settled and the sweat cooled on their chests. Mr. Todd wrapped his arm around her back, cradling her against his body. Nellie could feel his heart pounding in time with hers, and she closed her eyes to savor this moment.

A smirk played on Sweeney's lips as he kissed her ear and whispered,

"Thank you for doing my laundry."

* * *

Eh. I'm still not quite sure how I feel about the end of this. I think smut might not be my calling.  
But tell me what you think.

NOTE! If you are reading these one-shots in succession, they are _separate_ from each other. That is why they are _one-shots. _Thanks, loves!


	3. Interruptions

**Laundry and Other Stories  
**Written by Miss Malfaisant & Skye Aerrow  
Edited by Skye Aerrow

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sweeney Todd, or Mrs. Lovett, or their inconveniently placed romantic situations.

**Setting:** Set during the regained success of Mrs. Lovett's pie shop and Sweeney's murders before he kills the judge. Late afternoon.

**Inspiration: **This was originally inspired by Morwynn's _Sex and Chocolate_. I think you should go read it. Instead of mine. Right now.

* * *

"...an' so I was thinkin' that we should prolly get that done at some point and we'll be all right..."  
Nellie was sprawled across the Victorian couch in their parlor, her arms dangling over the sides and her ankles crossed in back of her. She cast an curious glance up at the barber, who was sitting on the windowsill and peering intently at his razor.

"Mistah T? You listenin' teh me?"

No answer.

"Mistah T!"

Sweeney Todd jerked, his mouth curling into a scowl directed towards the baker for interrupting his train of thought.

Nellie rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up in exasperation and swinging her legs around the side of the couch. "Y'know I don't really see the point in talkin' te you if you just not goin' te listen to anythin' I be talkin' about y'know one these days I'm goin' te say somethin' real important like and you aren't goin' te be listenin' and-MMFH!"

Mrs. Lovett's words were suddenly muffled and replaced with a squeal of surprise.

Sweeney had crossed the room from his perch on the window ledge and shoved his hand over her mouth, glaring at her.

Nellie pouted, regarding him mutinously through narrowed eyes. She crossed her arms over her chest, raising an eyebrow at him.

Sweeney sniffed, his eyes meeting hers and examining her with indifference.

Mrs. Lovett's auburn curls were piled in a mess on top of her head, and were frizzing in the London humidity. Her eyes sparkled in the dim light, and her figure seemed unnaturally slim when compared with her ample chest.

Sweeney's train of thought was slowly beginning to lead him down a path which he did not care to travel down.

Mrs Lovett brought her hands up and wrenched his hand away from her mouth, glaring at him furiously. "What the bloody 'ell was that for? You know, I don't understand why I shouldn't just kick you outt o' 'ere. Why don't you come up with some valid reason why I should keep lettin' you live up there and why I should cook your food and do your laundry if you just goin' to turn around and act like I don't even exist!"

Sweeney grunted.  
Why did she ALWAYS have to open that bloody mouth of hers?  
He'd been too busy staring at her breasts to hear a single word she had said.  
Really, now, what did she expect?  
Surely Mrs. Lovett understood how distracting her cleavage could be.

Nellie peered up at Sweeney, following his gaze.  
Oh, dear God.

She drew back her hand and smacked him, hard.  
"I'm up HERE."

The barber's lip twitched again, and he stood up.

Nellie huffed, folding her arms across her chest as if trying to cover herself and turning away from him.

Sweeney pivoted and slid his arms between hers, bending them up over her shoulders and yanking her towards him.

Shock registered on Nellie pretty face as she quickly became aware that her feet weren't touching the ground, and her blood seemed to freeze as he pressed a razor to her neck.

Mrs. Lovett tilted her head back as the cold metal kissed her sensitive flesh, not having any idea what to think about this. Being so dangerously close to him, she swore she must've died. With his razor pressed up against her neck as it was, she thought that she would be dead very shortly.

The baker had no idea why cold metal and a brooding barber turned her on, but hell, it didn't matter anymore.  
She could hardly even breathe correctly.

Nellie almost laughed at herself then. She really needed to be taking this more seriously.

She'd dreamed of this, of course, ever since Benjamin and Lucy had moved into the apartment above the shop- but he knew this already. He knew how much she longed for him, and now, he was either toying with her, or… dare she think it?... revealing how he felt, too.

Sweeney's hand on her back burned against her flesh. It was all she could do not to moan then, to moan and sigh and just faint, right then and there. But if she fainted, that razor on her neck would cut her flesh and tear her artery and kill her. Heaven knew she didn't want that, especially when she could feel Sweeney's breath against her neck and the pleasant warmth emanating from his body.

It was driving her insane, but she wouldn't let herself faint.

Unless he wanted her to, of course. Then, she'd be more than happy to collapse in his arms.

Sweeney simply stared at her, hissing into her ear. "Are you sure you want to be doing that Nellie?"

Mrs. Lovett bit her bottom lip, peering up at him without turning her head.  
She honestly didn't have any clue what she was doing at this point.  
"Oh, Mistah T... I'd do anythin' for yeh, love..."

Sweeney sneered, unable to retain his stony exterior. A slight pang of guilt pricked his stomach as he looked at her and the way she was melting into his body with her arms wrapped around his neck.  
He blinked.  
Had all these months of pretending that he could care less for her curvaceous silhouette really driven her this insane?

Tentatively, the barber lowered his razor, moving his arm around her neck instead. He took a step backwards, moving her leg with his, and pulled them into a slow, somber waltz around the parlor. "Anything, Nellie?" he repeated half-mockingly.

Sweeney Todd stopped them abruptly, pulling her suddenly even closer to him so his lips were at her ear.

"Would you be willing to prove that?"

Sweeney's words sent excited shivers down her spine, and the baker felt the same lightness in her stomach that she felt whenever she put on one of his shirts just after she'd finished his laundry.  
Before she could even try to say anything more, her mouth was against his, searching, seeking, wanting. Her hands strayed to his chest, where she could feel the smooth, easy muscle she'd always dreamed about and the rhythmic cadence of his cold, cold heart.  
Perhaps it wasn't as cold as she'd imagined it to be.

Mrs. Lovett was standing on tip-toe to compete with his six foot frame, and he stooped down, encircling her rear with his hands and pulling her up so her legs automatically wrapped around his waist.

Sweeney stumbled forward, the addition of her weight on his front making it a tad difficult to walk properly. They slammed into a wall, and he heard her squeal in surprise against his lips.

Much to his disappointment, she didn't seem to be that upset about it.  
He loved it when she was mad.  
It was so disgustingly hot.

Why did you think he ignored her all the bloody time?

Sweeney moved his lips to the side of her neck, and went to work branding her as his own.

"Nothing like a racy little rumor to bring in customers, eh Mrs. Lovett?" he growled huskily against her skin - in the midst of creating a rather large red and purple mark that would certainly linger for a while.

He wanted her to yell.  
To force him off of her and run from him.  
But, more than anything, he wanted to make her scream.

Mrs. Lovett let out a scandalized squeal as his lips sucked on her neck, bruising her tender flesh. "Mistah T, yeh don't mean...?" She knew perfectly well what she was suggesting, and she wasn't entirely sure if she was comfortable with it.  
Especially pondering Toby's reaction.

But, hell, she didn't even _care_.  
They could start all the rumors they wanted.  
Money would soon start pouring in, and besides that, maybe it would convince Sweeney to make some of the rumors true...

"You're a _whore_," Sweeney hissed into her neck, kicking open the door to her bedroom and throwing her down onto the bed.  
Coming from any other man, the baker might have taken that as an insult, but coming from him... well, it was practically a compliment. After all, at least by degrading her, he was forcing himself to acknowledge her presence.

Sweeney slammed the door behind him, tilting his chin downwards as he eyed her hungrily, his black eyes glistening as he drank up her scattered figure on the bed. A sudden urge that was more powerful than his rage and lust for blood had taken over him, and he forced himself to give into that emotion.

"Mistah T... wha's wrong? Yeh look... murderous, yeh do."

His upper lip twitched at her reaction. The bloody woman was blushing!  
It irked him. He wanted her to get angry.  
Sweeney loved it when she was angry.

What would he have to do to get her angry again? Stab her?

He let out a soft chuckle.  
She'd probably beg for him to do it again.

The barber's smirk faded and he glared at the red mark in her neck. His teeth had left visible marks, and her skin was glistening from his tongue.  
It was obvious that from the way she was gazing so intently at him, he would have to do something drastic if he wanted her furious.

"How ironic," Sweeney growled at her, not at all amused by her remark.  
She might as well have said that he had a nose. Or big hair.

Really? And you JUST noticed that?

He walked over to her, standing above the bed. He could have sworn his shadow caused her to shiver.

"Do you know what turns me on, Nellie?"

Sweeney's sudden proximity coupled with the menace in his voice caused Mrs. Lovett to tremble. She swore she could even feel a cold fear tearing up the inside of her ribcage; a cold fear that had already begun to replace the exhilaration of kissing the intimidating barber.

Her name from Sweeney's lips was sheer ecstasy, but not when it was practically hissed at her. The way he was speaking now made her feel as though she was some helpless mouse that he, as a cat, was merely toying with. Soon, he would tire of her, and then, if his lust for blood became urgent enough, he'd kill her, plain and simple.

The thought of him toying with her emotions brought on a sudden wave of anger.

"Well… M-Mistah T… I s'pose I could t-try the find out…"

Sweeney's dark eyes widened a bit when he saw the disappointed look in her eyes, and he felt his throat thicken slightly.

He didn't really understand it; not that he wanted to,  
but something about a pissed Lovett made him want her.  
Badly.

He felt his lip twitch again, and he fought to withhold a smile.

Bending down, Sweeney gripped the edge of the bed with his hands and stared at her.  
Sweet Jesus, she was _beautiful_.

"Guess."

"I… I don't-" Nellie paused.  
He was staring at her.

Dear God, he was staring at her with his entrancing black eyes. It drove her mad, when he looked at her like that- not that he had _ever_ looked at her like that before.

But still.

The anger that had risen up inside of her was no doubt a product of Mistah T's undoubtedly creepy nature. Every time he did something that sent shivers down Mrs. Lovett's spine, she became insatiably angry- either at him for doing that to her, or at herself, for being frightened of him as she was. Admittedly, it was a rather odd way to react to this sort of situation, but nevertheless, it was her automatic response.

The fact that he was continuing to play mind games with her didn't help any.

And her neck was really beginning to hurt.

Nellie forced her eyes away from his and crossed her arms over her chest, almost as if she were a petulant child.

She was sick of this teasing shit, damn it.

Now she was indignant. But that wasn't enough. Sweeney wanted her livid.

He couldn't help it; his mouth curled into a smile - a real smile - when she crossed her arms and stuck her lip out like that.  
She was simply _adorable._

"Tell me what you're thinking, darling." he drawled, holding his breath in anticipation.

Mrs. Lovett turned her head, wrinkling up her pallid features like he was crazy.  
He wanted to know what she was THINKING? What the hell was she thinking? Was she even thinking about _anything_?

Of course she was.

Mrs. Lovett was thinking about how nice it was to see Mistah T smile- even if she could only see a hint of the expression out of the corner of her eye. She was thinking that maybe he knew how he made her feel- that he was perfectly aware of how angry he made her sometimes. But that was ridiculous, of course. No one but herself knew anything about that.

She was also thinking that maybe, just maybe, he was thinking about her.

Despite her best efforts, her eyes shifted themselves to his face once more, but she left her arms crossed and continued to pout at him.

"I'm thinkin' that I might've left the oven on," Nellie replied stubbornly.

"I could eat you up, I really could." He whispered, completely ignoring what she had said.

Actually, that was a lie.  
He wasn't ignoring her if he honestly hadn't heard what she said.

Sweeney reached out, tracing a finger from the top of her cheekbone down her jawline. Her face had such a beautiful structure to it... now that he was here and in this state of mind, he couldn't figure out how he had been able to keep himself away from her until now.

He drew Nellie forward, his finger holding her chin up until their lips met softly.  
Somehow he had forgotten his overwhelming desire momentarily, and he let his forehead rest against hers.

"...You're beautiful."

Beautiful. He'd called her beautiful.

Mrs. Lovett thought she was dreaming.

Then she felt a pressure on her mouth reassuring her that she was, indeed, awake.

Nellie could only look at him through heavily-lidded eyes, unable to believe that all of this was actually happening to her.

She'd forgotten everything.

She'd forgotten being angry, forgotten that he'd been toying with her, forgotten that she'd ever even given a damn.

All that mattered right now was that they were here-

That Sweeney was here,

and more importantly, that he was with her.

It was this striking realization that made Mrs. Lovett murmur something she never imagined hearing herself say: his name.

"_Sweeney Todd._"

She'd never called him anything besides Mr. T. before...  
...his full name coming from her full lips must have been the most erotic thing he'd ever heard.

"Nellie..." he whispered, his eyes closed in response to his name being spoken.  
He opened them, and stared into her smoky, bed-me gaze with a new found hunger.

"Nellie," Sweeney growled again, baring his teeth before he lunged at her.

He pinned his hands on her waist, leaping onto the bed in such a way that they ended up halfway off of it, viciously and passionately eating each others faces until they succeeded in falling off the bed completely.

Did that stop anything?

Not at all.

Their tongues wrestled with each other, their hands roaming all over each others' bodies - touching, tempting, teasing.

It was, in a word, delicious.

And unbelievably sexy.

Mrs. Lovett rolled over so that he was on top of her, straddling her waist. His body flush against hers sent raw lust coursing through her veins, and if the intensity of the moment was any indication, Sweeney was also feeling significantly hungry.

Her chest heaved in short, shallow pants as he hands worked at his vest, easily tearing it off and then moving to undo his shirt.

Every single touch was electric; every kiss, every word, absolute heaven.

Nellie's delicate fingers flew across his front, making quick work of his shirt and vest. It had been so long since either of them had been sexually active; he couldn't blame Mrs. Lovett for being... eager.

They were pressed up against the far side of the bed, hidden from the doorway. Her head rested just below the edge of the blanket, and his hands wasted no time in scrunching her skirt up above her waist.

Much to his disappointment, it seemed that he had more work ahead of him. Embarrassingly enough, he had forgotten how many layers of clothing women wore.  
He mumbled something incoherent that sounded vaguely like 'fucking waste of my bloody fucking time' before he pulled his razor out of its holster and flicked it open. He sliced it smoothly across the front of her lower body, and her bloomers wilted and folded off of her bare legs.

Nellie groaned into his mouth and slid her hands down his chest to clutch the top of his pants, instinctively arching into him.  
God in heaven, why hadn't she done this sooner?  
Sure, he hadn't exactly paid her any attention until now, but _damn_, she very well could've just raped him or something.

"Do yeh know what I'd like to _do_, Mistah Todd...?"

Sweeney sneered into her lips at her remark.  
He found it ironic that they had both quoted her whimsical little day-dreaming song in such a manner. She didn't know it, but he had recently taken the liberty of standing outside her bathroom door while she showered, with his ear pressed to the wood to listen to her melodic voice behind the rush of the water.  
Her voice was so alluring and captivating when she sang, he found it difficult to keep himself outside.

Sweeney opened his mouth to respond to her tempting comment, but he was interrupted by the tinkling of a small bell.

Shit.

They froze, both of their heads turning slowly to stare at her closed door.

Violently he shoved her off of him, grabbing his shirt off of the floor. Mrs. Lovett was staring at him desperately, and the frustrated look on her face was evident.  
"Get out there. You're fucking dressed," he growled at her. Well, she was - visibly at least. Her dress reached the floor; if any customer had the opportunity to notice her bare legs...  
he growled to himself, and mumbled something that sounded something like "mine" as he hastily buttoned his shirt, silently cursing whoever had the mind to want a pie right now. Who went out in the pouring rain anyway? Wasn't it Thursday? Who left their house on Thursday? There was nothing to do on Thursday!

Filthy humans.

* * *

I just want to give a HUGE thank you to all of you who kept this story on your alerts and favorites even after I disappeared for five months. Sorry about that.

You are all absolutely fantastic and I love you.


	4. Progress

**Laundry and Other Stories **  
Written by Miss Malfaisant  
Edited by k00k

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Sweeney Todd or Mrs. Lovett or a Togepi. I want all three.

**Setting:** Set during the regained success of Mrs. Lovett s pie shop and Sweeney s murders before he kills the judge. Late evening.

**Inspiration:** This was originally inspired by Morwynn's _Sex and Chocolate_. This chapter in particular was inspired by_ Oedipus_, readapted by Steven Berkoff.

**Notes:** Besides the first chapter in this series, this is the only update of Laundry and Other Stories that I actually LIKE. Whoduthunk, right? Hope you like it too!

* * *

The day is finished, but the night is reluctant. Heaven is cut off, for the stars cannot pierce London's putrid air. The moon drags itself out of a filthy cloud, and as it stares down at the sick earth it brings gloom - not light.

_Infernal._

The bakehouse is like a crypt.

It is made up of dark, damp stone. What little light there is is stifled under the strange fog, this hellish strange reek, that thickens and perpetually hangs about the room. A string of sparkling puddles of blood follow the paths where the dead are carried to the cleaning benches; workbenches that line two of the walls, made of plain wood and covered with big stains and scratches. In the third wall there is a door that leads to the staircase. Wicker baskets are stacked up next to it.

All night the bake oven is smoldering. The scent of scrumptious pastry does little to cover the stench of carcasses rotting.

The dark haired woman inhales deeply, her lungs filling up with the acrid stench of dried blood, rotting flesh, and smoke as she heaves a corpse onto one of the workbenches. She pulls a huge knife from table beside her. Running a finger along the blade, as if to test its sharpness, she cuts into the man's body, skillfully disjointing the limbs and laying them out on the second bench.

Taking up one of the gents arms she smoothly starts to peel away the skin, revealing the tender flesh underneath. The chunks of meat are sliced off the bones like steak filets and placed in a basket. Skin and bones she idly dumps on the floor; any soft tissue and the internal organs go straight into the mincer. Carefully, her forehead scrunched in concentration, she works her way through the stack of limbs.

She is elbow deep in the man's torso when the door behind her swung open, scraping against the stone floor. She jumps slightly, and she turns to face her companion with just enough time to see a man stalking towards her with a determined and desperate look on his face. "Mistah T, wot-"

And suddenly their faces are smeared together, her nails digging sharply into his shoulders, him gripping her hard by the waist. She responds immediately, fighting his mouth with her own, lurching against him and biting down on whatever she could get her teeth on. Their bodies are mashed up against each other, their shadows stretching ominously across the room and melting into one. Pressing his palms against her body he moves his hands up her stomach, over her chest, across her shoulders, framing her face in his hands. Her hands and forearms are completely red with warm blood as she runs her hands over his back, chest, arms, and through his hair, blood smearing across his crisply pressed clothes.

He pushes her away slightly, her arms still around his shoulders.

His hand lifts up from her hip, ghosting across her front and coming to rest on her stomach.

She lifts her eyes to his, her cheeks tightening as she smiles, and nods once.

He sweeps her up off of her feet and heads towards the staircase. She wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist while he carries up to her bedroom, lazily kissing his shoulders and playing with his hair, muttering trivial things like how they never get anything done.

* * *

Yummers?


End file.
